Dailies Suck
by Ashcroft II
Summary: Come on. Everyone knows it, everyone has thought it, everyone has complained about it at one point or another. Dailies suck. They are, unfortunately, one of the best ways to get money in the world. Hopefully updated... Daily, but not likely.
1. Killing Wyrms

I should have _known_ this was a bad move. Why, why, WHY did I grab that stupid spear?! If I'd kept my nose where it belongs, I wouldn't risk getting it BITTEN OFF by the hulking Wild Wyrm that I was fighting with right now.

Speaking of which, I REALLY needed to stop whining before this thing ripped me in half.

I gripped on to the wyrm as tightly as my hands would allow, clinging on for dear life as the thing tried to shake me off. I looked and saw that its enormous talons were rising menacingly, I dodged as quickly as I could, grabbing the spear on my back when I reattached myself to the damn proto-wyrm and spearing the thing with all of my might. It screamed in agony as I kept prodding it and gripped tighter onto the beast's neck. Unfortunately, I got a tad stab-crazy, and gave a mighty thrust of the spear just before the dragon reared its claws up. I looked just in time to see the blade-like talons slice into me.

Good gods it hurt. My grip faltered and I frantically grabbed harder onto the scaly neck of the dragon. The pain was horrific. It felt like knives were slicing me as each second passed. I very nearly dropped the spear, the pain was so awful.

I grabbed the spear again and begun to stab the damned thing over, and over, and over. I was never so furious in my life, save when Arthas ran his army through the heart of Silvermoon. The fury I felt was slacked enough by the dragon's screams of pain that I could focus on dodging the claws that slashed at me.

"By the Sunwell you don't die, do you?!" I shouted over the howling wind and screaming dragon. I sank Hodir's Spear particularly deep into the Wild Wyrm's body, and it snatched me up into its jaws. Now I was fighting for my life even more surely than I was before. We were just above Frostfield Lake, and if I fell, I was going to die. I grabbed onto the teeth that were nearly stabbing into me. It kept biting at me, even though I had its teeth in a vice-grip, and was pulling its jaws apart with all the strength I could muster.

I grabbed the spear again and thrust it forward to end it, but my stab missed because the bloody thing wouldn't hold its head still. The pain from previous injuries was almost unbearable and getting worse by the second. We were over Dun Niffelem now, and I was about to die if this thrust missed. I pried the jaws of the dragon open further and could see it was practically _waiting_ to swallow me whole. I grabbed the spear, wrenched my eyes shut and stabbed, letting out a howl of fury and pain as I did.

Hodir's Spear hit home.

The dragon shrieked one last time as it fell, crashing into one of the crystals that made the roof of Dun Niffelem, cracking the crystal and slamming into the ground. The crystal landed on top of the wyrm's back, though it didn't kill the thing. It was already dead well before it hit the ground.

I staggered out of its jaws for a moment, and looked up at the broken crystal above me, and then at the wyrm I'd killed. I patted the dragon on its chin as I stumbled away from it. I sat down and called my pet. Zeinth came to me loyally and I slouched onto his back, exhaustion numbing my limbs, and fogging my vision.

I heard the sound of enormous feet crunching snow underfoot. I looked up to see King Jokkum staring at me, aghast. He asked, "Did you do that, Zalker?" referring to the wyrm that I had slain. I looked back at the thing, Sons of Hodir already scrambling to pull the crystal off of it.

"Yes," was all I said to the King of the Sons of Hodir. Then I passed out from blood-loss and the adrenaline fading from my veins.

I was looking forward to doing this all again tomorrow.


	2. Like Vrykul in a Barrel

A/N: Okay, seriously, am I the only person who thinks the Son's of Hodir daily quests are… a bit innuendo-ish? Seriously. I mean, Thrusting Hodir's Spear can sound totally wrong IN context, let alone out of context. Just a thought from me.

I idly wondered if Vile was just a vindictive Abomination that wanted to watch people suffer to alleviate his own torment. Then I smacked myself, duh. Of course he is. He works with the Knights of The Ebon Blade; they all want the Scarlet Crusade, the Lich King, and all of his little monkeys to suffer slowly.

I looked down at the buildings that had just ignited under the Njorndar Proto-Drake that I was riding's assault, and the scurrying little Vrykul people rushing to put the fires out, who probably would have ripped my throat out through my nostrils if given the chance for the little pest that I was being by burning their houses to the dirt. Oh, well. If they got violent, I could a: run for it; b: kill them all with furious, bloody, painful arrows. Volley hurts man, it really does. I'd have to kill some of them anyways, around 15 or so, to finish another Daily for those vindictive creeps in the Shadow Vault.

I flew the Drake over to the rampart-like structures overlooking the sea. I dismounted and walked calmly over to one of the harpoon guns pointing out over the cliff. I grabbed onto the controls of one of the things and looked over to see a Njorndar Proto-Drake Rider flying right at me. Lambs to the slaughter.

I began firing harpoons at him, and after about four stabbed into his drake, they both fell out of the sky. This one was boring; to an extreme. I mean, come on, the bastards don't even fight back, they just fly around in little circles! Oh well, 13 gold in pocket, and I didn't have to do anything, really.

Now came the fun part.

I hoped onto my green wyvern, and flew over to the arena area. I saw a Njorndar Spear-sister looking at the arena, which, surprisingly, had some activity in it; bunch of my fellow Hordies killing some of the quest-only elites in there. Oh, well. I sent my wolf at the Spear-sister and fired a Concussive shot at her. She turned to me, before Zeinth growled at her and charged. She was stunned for a second, and was focused on Zeinth long enough for me to pop a Steady Shot and an Explosive Shot at her. She turned to me, and I kept firing Steady Shots at her, and before she could take two steps towards me, my pet's assault and the arrows brought her down, hard.

I looted the body and stabbed the Ebon Blade Banner into the ground next to her. I killed another six of the annoying Vrykul cannon-fodder in much the same way, planting banners at their feet and moving on. Eventually I made my way to the training area, and accidently caught the attention of two angry Vrykul men who were beating the snot out of each other. One leapt all the way over to me, and began trying to kill me with an axe. My pet caught him, but the other one, charging towards us, bashed into me with the force of a kodo.

Oh, now it was on. I dropped a freezing trap under him, and used the Lock 'n' Load ability to fire two Explosive shots into his old rival's back. He went down pretty quickly, and my pet was freed up to maim the other one. I used Disengage to leap back from the frozen Vrykul, and fired a Concussive round into him. Rinse and repeat from the Spear-sister earlier. They were both dead, and I only had very minor wounds. I killed a few more Vrykul, before I flew off, back to the Shadow Vault. I landed and turned in the quests with Vile and The Leaper. The coin jingled delightfully in my bag.

Then I went to Baron Sliver.

Turns out I forgot to drop an Ebon Blade Banner on one of the corpses.

Dailies suck.

A/N: Yeah. Y'ever done this? Killed all those Vrykul, gotten attacked, maimed, and possibly died when you pulled one too many of the bastards, only to come back and find Baron Sliver with a big ol' silver question mark? I have. And thus, in my effort to write about all the major dailies of Northrend and how much it sucks to do them all, I have made this little "Ode to Not-so-much joy," featuring the works of Zalker, my main.


	3. Spy Hunting? I think not

A/N: Hate this quest. Abso-freaking-lutely HATE IT WITH A FIREY PASSION. And, despite the description I might have given in chapter 1 or 2, I don't hate the Wild Wyrm-hunting quest. I love it. For every 15 boring slog-quests where you run around killing idiotic monster X, Y, and Z, you get an awesome quest where you get to feel like a proud-warrior-race-dude every time you complete it.

Okay. Is this worg going to freaking find the damned iron dwarf?!

I mean, come on; THIS WOLF HAS CHANGED ITS DAMN MIND SEVEN TIMES ALREADY.

I sighed loudly as I followed the Ethereal Worg around the Valley of Endless Winter. I could feel my patience, and my sanity, slipping away, slowly, as the indecisive wolf trundled around in small circles. I was about to yell "Screw it," when the thing finally perked up and charged off in one direction. I hastily called up the Aspect of the Cheetah and ran after him at a frankly irresponsible speed. The wolf ran on, even past a particularly hungry looking Jormungar that started nipping at its heels.

I shot an Explosive Shot into the thing, along with a quick pair of Steady Shots, and, when it fell over dead, continued chasing the wolf. The damned beast ran even through a herd of Stoic Mammoths (which weren't exactly stoic when _I_ saw them, but who gives a rat's ass), and stopped a few of them in their tracks. As I ran past, Zeinth, my pet worg I'd tamed a few months previous, let out a loud howl, and the mammoths must have misinterpreted it, because while he said (yes I speak the language of my pets, shut the hell up), "Run swiftly, brother," the mammoths must have interpreted it as "Kill swiftly, brother."

Yes. The language of the worgs, grunts, yips, howls, barks, whimpers, and all that jazz, is easy to misinterpret when it comes to the words "run," and "kill."

"OH, COME ON!" I shouted as I ran particularly fast from the angry mammoths who thought we were hunting some of their own. I dropped a Frost Trap to slow them down, but I knew if one of them got a hit on me, that was it. I'd be stunned, and they'd beat me and my pet within an inch of our lives before we knew what the fuck.

Didn't give us good incentive to stop running, did it?

The mammoths eventually either lost interest, or figured we weren't worth the effort.

The worg was still running onwards, but we'd finally managed to catch up to him. He had a determined look in his eyes, and all I could think was, _finally_. It had started to slow down, and was looking more focused than ever, zooming in on one spot. I grabbed Arrowsong and began knocking an arrow, signaling my pet to follow the worg while I stood back. The two started rummaging in the snow, and I could feel myself tensing up for the iron-dwarf spy to jump out of the bank and try, futilely, mind you, to kill them both.

I looked down for a moment and when I looked up the Ethereal Worg and Zeinth were sitting proudly in front of me.

Holding an old mammoth femur between the two of them.

I believe I lost consciousness for a few minutes, because when I woke up I was swinging from Hodir's Spear in Dun Niffelem in a Ripped Ogre Loincloth screaming disjointedly about cake.


	4. Damn Frost Wyrms

I blinked slowly as I stared at the armored Paladin in front of me; Eadric the Pure, of the Argent Crusade. I was trying to save up money for my repair bills that would inevitably occur from wipes in raids, and was undergoing the torturous dailies of the Argent Tournament. Frankly, I wonder the sanity of it all sometimes. Yesterday, I and two of my allies had to kill a frost wyrm by the name of Chillmaw, and three cultist Bombardiers that were with her. Not too difficult and 36 gold, as the purse is usually worth more than the writ, is nice to get for my work. But today, I was being asked to do the same.

Damn.

THING!

By the Sunwell, didn't I just do this?! What, did the Scourge resurrect the bloody wyrm or are there a hundred like her all named Chillmaw?!

Dammit all; I had to undergo the furthermore torturous process of entering the dreaded Looking for Group system, a howling wasteland from whence no man, woman, or child can leave with their sanity intact. The Looking for Group system is supposedly a vast psychic network maintained by Azeroth's mages, you specify what you are and what you want to do, and the system finds you a group.

… At least, that's what I think it is. Makes as much sense as anything in this god-forsaken world…

That would be if it worked, of course, but, despite updates and shit, the fucker still is more temperamental than a Fel Orc on steroids and crack cocaine. While looking for a Culling of Stratholme group the other day, I set the system to auto-join a group, or auto-match me with a person who was looking for the same thing. I wait five minutes before checking the Looking for More portion, a subsection of the LFG system itself. Four other people were waiting for the same thing. A tank, healer, and two other damage-dealers, or DPS (Damage-Per-Second) were in the system.

I hate this damn thing, quod erat demonstrandum.

Today, however, the gods smiled upon me, for I swiftly found a group and was on my way to the place where Chillmaw flew around. There were three of us, myself, a male orc warrior, and a female troll shaman. We sat down and waited for Chillmaw to make her roundabout. We sat for a good ten minutes, and nothing happened. I mounted up after letting the others know I hadn't detected any undead in the vicinity, and flew off to find the dragon.

My bronze drake (doing Heroic Culling of Stratholme has nice benefits), Molidormi, flew quickly and after around five minutes of searching, we spotted the dread wyrm, flying towards us with grim determination.

"Um, Zalker? We may wish to turn around, that dragon is getting too close for comfort." I, frankly, agreed. Chillmaw was around 45 yards away from us, Moli angled around and started flying back towards the landing point. I grinned to myself, but yelped in terror as a blast of ice flew by my head. I looked behind me to see Chillmaw gaining on Molidormi's tail. The bombardiers on her back looked ready to kill, preparing bombs to throw at us. I pulled Moli's reins and angled her into a steep incline, heading towards the ground with frightening speed. Chillmaw was gaining on us still, and the ground was coming up very fast towards us.

At the last possible second, Moli pulled up and banked off to the right, Chillmaw crashing into the ground behind us. I could hear something snap and splinter, but the dragon reared up, roared after us and flapped its wings. I arrived at the landing point well before the crippled Chillmaw, dismounted, and dashed behind a rock. My party looked at me like I was insane, but I signaled that Chillmaw was on her way.

When Chillmaw landed, the warrior charged headlong to meet her. The dragon reared up in shock, before slashing at him. The shaman belted of a heal on him, and I started shooting the dragon, my pet following the warrior's precedent. The dragon fell soon enough, and the bombardiers who leapt down were cannon-fodder by comparison.

I stood there and looked at the fallen wyrm for the second time in the last two days. I laughed and pointed at her.

"Take THAT you over-glorified pile of bones!" I taunted. I turned around to start walking away, but paused as our healer gasped quietly. I turned my head to look at her, and she started pointing down rapidly. I looked at my feet to see… a saronite fragmentation bomb with the fuse about to blow, resting comfortably a few inches from my feet.

I looked at the dragon and muttered, "Tomorrow, you die slowly."

A/N: Um… hello? … I'm baaaaaaaaack. Yeah, a few weeks procrastination really kicks you in the ass eventually. I finally decided to get some fucking work done, and this seemed like the best project to work on atm. Yes, I truly do hate the LFG system, and this is my best theory


End file.
